


Through Everything

by librata



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, M/M, Married Couple, Protective Erik, Time Skips, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21815503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librata/pseuds/librata
Summary: Five vignettes spread across 20 years of Charles and Erik.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64
Collections: Secret Mutant Madness 2019





	Through Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity) in the [secret_mutant_madness_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/secret_mutant_madness_2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> 5(ish) times Charles never gave up on Erik + 1 time Erik didn't give up on Charles.

**\- - - Age 23 - - -**

"I don't know why you do this to yourself."

"I don't do it to myself. I do it to others."

"And use yourself as collateral."

Erik rolled his eyes, which Charles took as a victory. A very small one, given the circumstances, but any concession from Erik was something to be celebrated. 

"That's going to take at least a week to heal," Charles said as he finished taping the gauze around Erik's knuckles, which were in a right state with blood and bruising and broken skin. The anti-mutant protestor who'd been at the receiving end of Erik's fist fared far worse, Charles was sure that the metal-bender had a broken _something_ somewhere on his body. "And _that,_ " he continued, brushing Erik's split bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Will take longer, because you'll keep re-opening it when you scowl like that."

"A busted lip is nothing," Erik insisted, pulling away to scoot across sofa, out of Charles' immediate reach. "The Cro-Magnon got what he deserved, showing up at a mutant rights rally with that sort of talk. I hope his nose is crooked for the rest of his pathetic life. I'd do it again, too."

"If I weren't there to mutilate those cops' memories, you'd be in a jail cell right now, Erik," Charles reminded his friend, exasperated. "I think you've been arrested more times than any person I know. Quite an accomplishment, for a 23-year-old."

Charles watched as Erik frowned down at his bandaged knuckles as he sat on Charles' leather sofa. His quiet, cozy apartment was a stark foil to the riot they'd just escaped, but somehow, Erik seemed to fit into both settings with seamless ease. At first, Charles hadn't been able to imagine the surly, violent man he'd become acquainted with through their university's Mutant Society group as someone he'd ever call a friend. Five years later, Erik Lehnsherr was Charles' closest. His intellectual equal, his favorite chess partner. His preferred companion in most settings.

If only he'd stop getting himself into trouble.

"This is how I am, Charles," Erik said after a minute, stern green eyes raising to meet Charles' own. "It's not your place to try to change that."

Charles opened his mouth to retort, but quickly realized he didn't know how to. He had no desire to _change_ Erik––Erik was the most amazing person Charles had ever met. No one else he knew carried themselves with such confidence, such strength. Erik was a man who knew what he wanted, and Charles admired that trait. He could only hope that his friend didn't think that he'd want him to be any different.

"For the record, Erik," said Charles finally. "I think you're incredible. I wouldn't change a thing about you. That's not what I intended for you to think at all, and if I've ever implied that I wished you were different, I apologize."  
Erik cocked a brow. "For some reason, I don't believe you."

"You're right," Charles conceded as he met Erik's eyes once more. "I do wish that you didn't find yourself on the wrong side of a jail cell every few months. Bailing you out is both exhausting and expensive. But that's not a personality trait. That's a behavior, which is an appropriate thing to want you to change."

A snort escaped the metal-bender's battered lip then, and he peeled himself off of the sofa to rummage through Charles' stocked liquor cabinet. "And I disagree with you again, Xavier," he hummed, extracting a bottle of his favorite scotch. The smirk on his face was underscored by a note of something more serious, Charles observed, and his bandaged and twitched as he poured the amber liquid into two metal cups. "It _is_ a personality trait, in me. At some point, you're going to want to give up on me."

Charles raised his hand to catch the glass Erik floated toward him, and then stood up to move to Erik's side. "Give up on you, Lehnsherr?" he asked, and then clinked his cup against Erik's own. "Never."

**\- - - Age 30 - - -**

Charles didn't know if it was the drugs, the shock, or a combination of the two, but as the solemn doctor explained his prognosis, he felt like his head was full of cotton. Even as he reached out with his telepathy for a second listen, the words fell through the cracks in his understanding.

What he _was_ fully aware of was the vice-like grip around his left hand, an anchoring force in their sea of unknown.

"There's... _no_ chance, then?" came a familiar voice, as if it were speaking from another dimension. "Not at all?"

"With the technology we have now? No. Not at all," confirmed the steady voice of the doctor, and Charles blinked his eyes open to see her face fold in solemn understanding. "His spinal cord injury is complete, which means that the nerve damage is total and irreparable. He won't walk again. I'm very sorry."

Charles still couldn't recognize the finality or severity of what was happening around him, but he did feel the tsunami of pain, guilt, anger, and fear press up against his brain, the levees bursting open to flood his head with the froth. An unending current of _IloveyouI'msorryIloveyouI'msorryIloveyouI'msorryIloveyouI'msorry_ accompanied the swell, and Charles clung to it for what felt like hours until the fog began to finally lift from his consciousness.

"E...Erik?" he finally croaked, offering a faint squeeze in response to the hold around his hand. 

A scramble of movement beside him, and then, Erik. Hovering over him, his silhouette dark against the painful light of his hospital room. An attempt to move his neck to more comfortably look at his lover yielded no results, and Charles realized with a small start that his neck, shoulders, and upper back were braced in a stiff splint. Even through his groggy reality, Charles could see that Erik's face was tortured and exhausted, almost manic as he flexed his grip impossibly tighter around his fingers. "Charles," he breathed, barely more than a whisper. "Are you in pain?"

Charles considered his question, eyes falling shut to allow him to rest, for just a moment. Thinking and seeing at the same time was a task too taxing for his sluggish self. There was an intense stiffness that permeated throughout, but mostly, everything was numb. "No," he answered honestly, cracking an eye back open. Erik still looked anguished. "What happened?"

Erik looked away then, his jaw setting as he frowned at the wall. Suddenly, a vivid scene filled Charles' head, a memory of being in a car, on their way home from a mutant empowerment conference. The sky was dark around them, and rain lashed off of the windshield. He was talking–– _Erik_ was talking, through the metal-bender's eyes, he could see himself, gazing out the rain-soaked window. In the next moment, a intrusion of light broke through their moving car, and on base instinct, Erik created a magnetic barrier around himself to keep himself safe from the impact of the drunk driver's car.

"He was an anti-mutant bigot who heard me speak at the conference." The memory stopped abruptly, and when Charles refocused his vision on Erik, he could see that his lover had a sheen over his eyes. "He was drunk and angry and targeted me. I didn't protect you," he said stoically, still frowning with trembling lips at the wall. "I protected myself, but I didn't protect you, and now you're––"

Erik didn't finish his sentence, but he didn't need to. Paralyzed, he knew, connecting what the doctor had said earlier to the numbness in his lower body. _He won't walk again. I'm very sorry,_ she'd said. 

"Darling," Charles whispered as tears brimmed in his own eyes. "Erik, look at me."

Erik's jaw seemed ready to snap off of its hinges with how tightly it was clenched, but he still turned to look at Charles. "It's my fault, Charles. I could have saved you and I didn't."

"If you spend the rest of our lives blaming yourself for this, I will absolutely murder you," the telepath insisted, offering another weak squeeze of Erik's hand. "I mean it."

Erik's shining eyes narrowed. "It's my fault," he said again, a touch louder. 

"It happened in a single second, Erik. You reacted how anyone should have. And, frankly, I'm so, so happy that you saved yourself. So, so happy."

Erik rubbed his free hand over his face, and held it there for several seconds. "I'll understand if you want to go, Charles."

"What?"

"I'm not quite sure how you'll be able to look at me, anymore. If you want to leave, to give up on me, I completely understand."

Charles swiped his thumb over Erik's knuckles, tears racing down his cheeks. "My love," he murmured. "We'll get through this together. I will never, ever give up on you."

**\- - - Age 35 - - -**

_Charles._

The telepath paused, his hand still hovered over the exam he was busy marking. His husband only bothered him during his free period if it became absolutely necessary, which meant that something had gone massively awry.

_Erik._

A brush of cautious warmth. _Are you in the mood to console a small army of young students, at the moment?_

_Not particularly. Why?_

Before Erik could offer an answer, an anxious rap against his office door forced Charles to lift his head. And then, like clockwork, an assault of agonized young minds knocked against his brain. "Professor!" came the cry of a child. 

_I may have taught my class of seven-year-olds what genocide is. Sorry, good luck._

"PROFESSOR!"

An hour later, after ensuring that all of the terrified tears of his youngest students were long dried, Charles was fuming. For some entirely unknown reason, Erik had allowed his elementary geography lesson to evolve into an in-depth explanation of genocide, made perfectly understandable to the group of young children. Even more atrociously, Erik had used mutantkind as an example. The poor darlings had run to Charles, terrified that they too would be herded away by their own human families and friends, and killed for who they were.

Their immediate fears may have been assuaged, but Charles knew well that such a traumatic revelation could have lasting damage on a young mind.

Carried by rage, Charles pumped at his wheels toward Erik's office. It was locked, so Charles banged on the wood with his fist. 

"Busy," came Erik's voice from the other side, which sent another angry wave of heat down Charles' spine. His husband, undoubtedly, could feel the wheelchair's metal skeleton.

_Open this door right now, or I'm making you act like a dog for the rest of the night._

_You wouldn't dare._

_Commence urinating all over your clothes in three....two...._

Before Charles could reach the final count, the lock clicked open, and Charles tore inside. 

"Have you completely lost touch with reality, Erik?" Charles hissed the moment the door sealed shut behind him. He screeched to a halt at Erik's desk, eyes brimming with rage at the man who sat at the other side. "Do we need to have you assessed by a psychiatric professional? Because _no one_ in their right mind would teach a roomful of _seven-year-old_ mutants about _genocide!_ "

Erik, cool as ever, flipped through the volume on his desk. "I didn't mean to," said the metal-bender, green eyes focused on his book. "You told me to be natural when I teach. The conversation evolved naturally."

"Do you take me for a complete moron!?" Charles demanded, and before he could stop himself, jabbed the book off of Erik's desk with an angry sweep of his arm. It heaved to the floor with a loud thump, and with nothing to distract his eyes, Erik was finally forced to look into Charles' own. "Or perhaps I didn't think you were as moronic as you actually are, as I assumed that you would use any semblance of logic that you have and, perhaps, _not_ terrify our youngest students into thinking they're about to be rounded up and slaughtered like cattle by their human counterparts!"

Erik narrowed his expression, the two men engaging in a weighty stare down. Charles hoped that his husband understood that this was not a challenge he needed to rise to, that this was not an argument he was going to win. Every member of staff knew the Golden Rule––they were not indoctrinate, proselytize, or impress any agenda other than respect for others upon the students. If the older ones, above the age of 13, were curious and approached an adult separately with questions, they were permitted to engage at their discretion. Providing a wide-eyed group of second-graders with examples of human atrocity against mutantkind, however, was an entirely different story.

At last, Erik leaned over to pick up the fallen book, but closed it on his desktop. He frowned down at the cover, lips a tight line. "Fine," the German conceded. "I will admit that I crossed a line."

"You bloody well will admit that you crossed a line," Charles agreed, and then let out a heavy sigh as he backed away from Erik's desk and scooted toward the window. Several children were engaged in some sort of game in the back garden, which involved a frisbee, two soccer goals, and a volleyball net. Even though the children _seemed_ to be happy here, to be thriving here, Charles always felt as if he wasn't doing enough. In the three years that Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters had been open, enrollment had skyrocketed up to nearly fifty full time students. He had nine teachers, all of whom doubled or tripled as counselors, chefs, custodians, and child-wranglers in order to keep their operation afloat. And while everything was going far better than any of could have expected three years ago, the fear of failing or falling short haunted Charles at every turn. 

A set of large hands gripped Charles' shoulders from behind, strong fingers massaging at a twist of knots. "They're all fine, you know," Erik said, understanding Charles' expression. "They feel safe, and accepted. You're doing an incredible job by these children, Charles."

The telepath drank those words in like an aged bourbon, his body sagging a touch. "They deserve the world," he mumbled, watching as Sean floated over the top of the volleyball net with a controlled blast of his sonic screech. "I can only try to give them a piece of it."

"You ought to give yourself more credit than that," Erik chided, continuing to knead through Charles' pliant muscles. "Look what you've assembled over the course of a few years. _You_ did that."

Charles allowed another sigh to press from his body, and then rested his head against Erik's wrist. "Don't think that a little massage is going to get you out of the dog house, Erik," Charles murmured, even as he nuzzled into the touch just a but. "I'm still furious with you. You ought to be fired for your stunt. Anyone else would be."

"Why don't you fire me, then?"

"Because," Charles said. "I know you'd be an amazing teacher if you tried. I won't give up on you so easy, Erik Lehnsherr."

**\- - - Age 43 - - -**

Charles all but shuddered with comfort as Erik tucked the warm blanket around his body, his eyes butterflying shut.

"Charles?" Erik's voice was anxious, laced with unbridled concern. "Everything alright?"

"I'm fine, my love," Charles replied. "Comfortably resting, now."

As comfortable as he could be on the bench seating of the jet with his head rested in Erik's lap, anyway. His back still screamed with stiffness and pain, and he was fairly sure that Hank would be sending him under the knife to repair something or other once they'd arrived back in Westchester. But after what he'd endured this past month, Charles felt like he could very well be in paradise.

While hauling himself into the passenger seat of Alex's car in town, two tranquilizer darts had pierced both his and Alex's arms. The sedative overtook them before either could react, but when Charles had opened his eyes, he found himself chained to a bed in a darkened cell, mutation held captive by a heavy collar around his neck. He soon came to discover that an underground anti-mutant research group had targeted him, intent on exploiting both his mutation and his power among the mutant ranks to gather more information about the whereabouts of their kind. 

The ensuing month consisted of little other than pain and abuse, his captors pushing both Charles' body and his mind to their most extreme limits. They forced him to remain awake for days on end, kept him without food or water, inflicted physical torture. All with the goal of laboring a desperate confession, of sorts, from Charles as an exchange for a cessation of the pain. From the very first day, Charles had told his captors that he would assuredly allow them to kill him before he gave them what they wanted from him, and his conviction remained steadfast throughout the grueling month. 

And by the end of it all, just before Erik burst into the facility with an army of his X-Men, death had seemed a comfortable escape from the ceaseless torture. However, rather than being forced to consider it at all, he'd instead watched with disbelieving tears as Alex (who had been left unconscious in the car) and Hank stormed into his cell, taking out his handlers without so much as a blink. Sometime later, after the building and its inhabitants had been reduced to rubble, someone passed him into Erik's arms, and he'd been unable to do anything but weep into the man's chest.

Hank had managed to convince Erik to allow Charles to be assessed, and, despite a spate of injuries which would need proper treating, all were relieved to hear that Charles wasn't in immediate danger. 

Now, Charles was laid across Erik's lap, unwilling to separate himself from his husband for even a moment. His eyes remained shut, but he didn't want to sleep just yet––not until they were home safely. He'd laced his hand with Erik's own, focusing on the contact between them, the trust that would always be there. "You need to shave," Charles murmured, blinking a bleary eye open to observe Erik's overgrown gingery beard. "Badly."

Erik glanced down at him then, and Charles could feel a swell of something mixed with relief, exhaustion, and love gently flow into his mind. "You do as well, Xavier," Erik countered, sweeping his free thumb down Charles' scruff-covered jawline. "No offense, Professor, but I prefer my men clean shaven. Probably a little bit thicker, too. You're too gaunt."

Charles' eye fell shut once more as a relaxed smile grew unbidden across his lips. "Drat. Have you already left me for another man?"

"I found one moments after I discovered that you'd been taken, yes."

Very quickly, Charles realized that his plans to ward off sleep until he could do it in a proper bed beside his husband would need to be reconsidered, as it crept up on him with force. Always in tune with Charles' state, Erik leaned over to drop a soft kiss on Charles' forehead. "Sleep. You need it."

"That I do," Charles agreed, but forced his eyes open once more to gaze up at his husband. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?" Erik asked quietly, pushing Charles' dirty hair from his forehead.

"Rescuing me," he replied. "I knew you would. I knew it was a matter of time."

Erik allowed a thoughtful frown to quirk at his lips. "Did you really?"

Charles gave the faintest of nods. "Of course I knew. I knew it from the moment I woke up in that dreadful place, and I never gave up on you, love. Not for a moment." With that, Charles finally permit himself to succumb to sleep, safe and warm in Erik's lap.

**\- - - Age 43 - - -**

"Is he finally sleeping?" Raven asked quietly, slipping onto the bench beside Erik.

"Mm. Don't wake him," Erik warned, a protective hand spread across Charles' chest. "He needs rest."

For a short while, both Erik and Raven observed the telepath as he slept, mouth slightly agape. His face wasn't quite peaceful, still tensed ever so much around the eyebrows, and Erik could guess that nightmares might be a regular occurrence in the months to come. Hank and Alex were piloting them home from the cockpit while Sean, Darwin, and Angel sprawled across their own rows of seats, fast asleep as well.

It was only then that Erik finally felt the weight of his own exhaustion fall heavy on his shoulders. He, too, hadn't slept much throughout Charles' absence, stealing only an hour here or there when his body overpowered his mind. 

Sleep, among other things, had been impossible for the most part. Every functional moment had been devoted to Charles' rescue, and every non-functional moment had been spent steeped in anguish. His mind spun scenario after scenario, reeling through the infinite number of possible situations Charles could have been thrust into. The thought of his husband, his life partner, his best friend in pain or worse had driven Erik to the brink of insanity.

Yet, at the same time, he hadn't been able to imagine Charles as _gone._ Not _his_ Charles, the one who managed to be the steady force amid a chaotic world, the one who always demonstrated strength in the face of adversity, security against uncertainty. No, Erik had not given up on Charles for a single iota, unable to consider the possibility of him being gone. 

It just didn't fit, not in this reality. Charles might crack, but he would never fully break under any applied pressure, even if it was in his best interest to do so. At some point, he would ask Charles what they'd really done to him in the duration of the ugly month, but for now, it didn't particularly matter. All involved in the anti-mutant group were properly taken care of, and any outstanding secret affiliates would already be buried in their foxholes by now, quaking pathetically with fear. And Charles was _here_ , battered but intact, still firm in his resolve and sound of his brilliant mind.

"You know that this is far from being over," Raven admitted then, her blue fingers twisted in her lap. "I mean, we got this group taken care of, but you know there are others, Erik. Others that have their eyes on the school. On him."

Erik knew that, most assuredly, and he'd known that for a very long time. Hell, he'd even been able to convince Charles to let him train any interested students and staff to act in situations like this. The world still had a long, long way to go before they wouldn't have to worry. "Of course I know, Raven. I've been trying to convince your brother to acknowledge it for what it is for 25 years. He still won't, even after this."

"He'll probably never accept it," Raven agreed as the metal-bender pushed his fingers through Charles' stringy hair, one hand still splayed across his chest. "I really don't know why throws his head in the sand so deeply. He's not really that naïve, in other aspects of his life."

Erik said nothing as Raven stood up to go find her own place to rest, watching as Charles' chest rose and fell underneath his hand. They all knew that, of course, that Charles had a fanciful hope for unfettered peace between mutants and humankind. Erik was sure that even after falling victim to the cruelty himself, Charles wouldn't change his tune.

Maybe long after their lifetimes were over, their kind wouldn't have to worry about hothead anti-mutant punks at rallies, or malicious drunk bigots who followed them home from conferences. Or young mutant children cowering in fear of the humans in their lives, or groups willing to kidnap and torture to obtain what they wanted. If the natural evolution of societal progress continued as it had for thousands of years, they wouldn't. Bigotry wasn't a temporal phase, but the targets of bigots were, so, one day, mutants would likely be able to live their lives without having their heads on a constant swivel.

For now, though, Erik knew that they weren't there yet. There was a lot of ground to be covered. And while Charles might not approach the problems with as much aggression as Erik would prefer, he still did more for their kind than anyone else ever had. The school had become _the_ place for mutants young and old, a micro society and a safe haven in a world that wasn't ready for them yet. Without it, they would still only be organizing in messy marches and vitriolic conferences, undefended from attack.

Through everything, Charles would always remain strong. And even if he wanted to, Erik could never, ever give up on him.

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's note:**
> 
> Thank you for the amazing prompt! I had so much fun writing and exploring their relationship across different phases of their lives.


End file.
